lent 2007 no. 21671 ￥ 0.00 _+tax_

lent 2007









THE

no. 21,671

¥ 0.00 (+tax)









SEX

“Veni, vidi, Vidushi.”

Lent 2007



JCR COMMITTEE 2006-2007

President

al

3. Presidenti

Pete Davies

Vice-President & Treasurer NOW IN

Ben Fisher Address GLORIOUS

Secretary & Communications Officer



4. Aural Sex

Sean Lip MONOCOLOUR

External Officer

Paul Powlesland

Amenities Officer 5. Skullion

Dave Kerr

er

Academic Affairs and Welfare Officer

6. Shag-A-Jagg

res

ws In Pictu

Emma Blackburn

/ Ne

7. Comment

Bar & Buttery Officer

Katy Griffiths

Charities, Campaigns & Environment

Jenny Taylor

8. On Greed

Ents Officers

rities

Nat Slater & Krzystof Honowski

9. Fina ncial Irregula

/

/ One-Liners

First Year Representative

Charlotte ‘Lady’ Sayers

Diary

Access and Equal Opportunities Officer 10-11. Dear

David Hopper

Women’s Representative

‘Apparition’

sassin

Laila Motamed

With An As

LGBT Representative 12. Meeting

Cordelia Smith

tles /

International Representative

Christian Herrmann 13-14. E piscopal Epis

GEEMA Representative Top Ten…

Harsh Sanchetti

alrus’

Guide / ‘W

15. Mathmo

Editor of ‘The Sex’

Jamie Cartwright



Man

The Sex was performed by: 16. Michelin

ssay

Emma Blackburn

Write An E

Jamie Cartwright

Gary Cross

17. How To

City

ex In The

Chris Darlow

Pete Davies 18. S

Pilar Garrard

edom

Sean Lip

James Lloyd 19. Cap italist Whor

verse

Louis Jagger

Of The Uni

Jenny Scott-Thompson

Georgina Stooke-Vaughan

20. Centre

Alice Waterman

The

Presidential

Address

Dear readers of {the sex}

Welcome to another edition of our esteemed semi-annual publication. Firstly, I’d like to congratulate all the

new freshers for reaching these hallowed halls, and surviving (for the most part) freshers’ week relatively

unscathed. Hopefully you’ve all now got the hang of this university lark, and will contribute a great deal to

Peterhouse’s glittering academic record. Ahem. Anyway, you’ve made it, enjoy the next 3, 4 or 6 years of

the most intense learning, drinking, socialising and procrastinating you’ll ever experience.



With that said, times are getting tougher for students these days. Your representation, by the JCR, then

CUSU and ultimately the NUS, is seemingly waning in power year by year. This year, we have lost free NUS

discount cards, in favour of the £10 ‘NUS extra’ card. CUSU continues to do, well, not very much really, de-

spite costing us over £1800 a year in affiliation fees. Meanwhile the JCR is trying to perform its basic func-

tions, despite a 35% cut in our budget from AMALs (as most college sports and societies have also experi-

enced). To combat this decline, the JCR has taken a decisive course of action and has basically sold out;

corporate sponsorship, like it or loath it, is the only way we can see to continue providing the facilities and

events you have become accustomed to. We welcome the support of Accenture in sponsoring AMALs,

and look forward to maintaining such relationships to prop up our activities in college.



The JCR still has a great many issues to address. There are still problems with Ents due to college rules and

the facilities available in the bar, the drinks prices continue to climb, college still springs a great deal of un-

expected changes and charges on us and the number of unpleasant surprises we get is on the rise. The

latest problems with portable appliance testing (PAT) and a possible forthcoming reduction in the availabil-

ity of hobs in gyp rooms (to be confirmed) are the result of changes in the way Cambridge Council imple-

ments legislation on student accommodation – generally it means bad news all round. The JCR plans to

work with college to explain what the changes will be, and will try to get allowances made wherever possi-

ble, but we will almost certainly see some reduction in college facilities in the future.



Still, Peterhouse keeps ticking along in a similar vein that it has been for the last 722 years. Looking to the

future, Lent term is known as the political term, as we encounter the fun and frolics of the rooms ballot and

various society elections, including the JCR. For first years, the rooms ballot is the process by which you are

allocated your room for next year – you get put into a random order and can pick from available accom-

modation in that order. Full details of last year’s ballot procedure are on the website. I’d also like to encour-

age everybody to consider standing for positions on the JCR; nominations will open in about week 2 or 3

next term and any position is within your reach – for example Peterhouse is unusual at present in having a

4th year president, many other college tending to have first years in this role.



So to summarise, enjoy yourselves, grin and bear it as things get tougher in the future, and get keen for the

elections next term.

“Did you ever walk into a room “I never wank with my

and forget why you walked in? I

think that's how dogs spend their

socks on.”

lives.” "Going to the May Ball is a bit like

having sex with a male prostitute;

you may never get the opportunity

"I'm not going to fuck any-

again but who says it's worth £150?”

one up the embouchure."



“Thats not innuendo, thats

"I think playing with oneself is just you being a twat.”



overrated." “Can a vegetarian person

"Michelangelo? What, da Vinci?"

give a blowjob?”

“What kind of name is that? Oh I

"I don't mind naked people so see, you're Welsh.”

long as they're in the Observer." "It's fine, it's just a carpet

pube"



“Phil is the war criminal of humour.” 'Well, I was going to get some

sleep last night, but some

"I learnt a new word today; fuckers came into my room

'Pugnaciously'. It's the kind of and started smashing

glasses and burning my

word which shouldn't exist."

hair.”





"So, penises, let’s talk “I'm a Mathmo. Where would I get

about them.” chlamydia from?”



“Did you know that Brit- "I've got this theory about the

ish Airways will serve you female orgasm being God."

up to four double Gin and

Tonics on a one hour “It’s not rape if you

flight? I didn't until I

asked for the fifth.”

shout ‘surprise’ first.”

S kullion

News In Brief

Lady and the Tramp:

Second-year SPS student

PER ASPERNATIONEM, AD ASTRA sinks to new moral low

on depraved night out



FIRST-YEARS ARE in Local News, pp.30-8



Peterhouse cooks “spoil

the broth”

REVOLTING in Health, p. 39



Announcement of new

As a new Michaelmas term dawns on Cam- silence coming from the room. I tried listening in

bridge’s oldest college, centuries-old mechanisms and all I could hear was like, this scratching and Porters Lodge portraits

grind once more into gear, while the traditions of muffled voices. No man needs to hear that sort of following success of Pe-

the ages shake the dust from their venerated shoul- thing; it quite put me off the rest of my pint, and terhouse calendar

ders and stumble off to get dorped in the bar. once I told my housemates they were so disgusted in Culture, pp.44-50

However, it has become clear over the last few they didn’t even have the heart to keep fucking the

weeks that the new batch of freshers have failed to hooker they’d hired. They paid for that hooker, Channel 4 announce

acclimatised themselves to this rarefied atmos- goddammit. It’s a disgrace.” Groan’s subsequent

phere. Simply not content with their traditional tears are a lesson to us all, and a symbol in them- ‘Meal or No Meal’; a

role, not unakin to the Eton fags of yore, they are selves of the dark times facing our mutual way of new gameshow for the

destroying not only their own reputations but, self- life. The senior tutor has today released a state- homeless

ishly, smugly, and with no apparent forethought, ment on the situation: “We are shocked and sad- in TV, pp. 51-7

that of the college which admitted them in the first dened by the behaviour of certain students, who

place. Suddenly, it appears, hitting spade, getting have let down the standards of the college badly.

dorped and the venerated blunder bus are in dan- All implements used in the facilitation of this Pope goes to Mount

ger of being superannuated by a new tide of super- beastly act have been confiscated and the culprits Olive; Popeye vows re-

fluous activity and contemptible, chin-stroking will be sentenced with extreme discourtesy.” A venge

conscientiousness. Not content with ennuie, fat- prudent enough course, doubtless, but one unable in Religion, p. 58

uousness and elitism, such unheard-of concepts as to disguise the growing descent into

middle-class pretension, intellectual endeavour

and heterosexuality are sticking in the throats of Anarchy. And yet the upper echelons appear too

both fellows and upper years alike like so many paralysed by port, snuff and syphilis to act accord-

Nationwide News

shrivelled Adonian organs, to be dislodged by no ingly. Bursar Greg Richardson’s plans to sell the

amount of stella or fumbled, inadequate spade- entire year to Trinity as menial servants, shifting a Tits n’ arses

hitting. sizeable turd from the Peterhouse plumbing and in Page Three, p.4

simultaneously clearing its “tragic-comedic”

The immoral growth of morality was initially her- budget deficit appear now to have fallen through.

alded, like the bastard star over the metaphorical It is the more senior students, and perhaps most of Skullion Exposé: How

birthplace of Michael Winner, by the rumour of all the staff, who will have to live with the conse- gay Islamic fundamental-

the founding of several secret societies among the quences. ist teenage illegal immi-

first year. Talk of the Hobo Club, organised by a grants are to blame for

select few where cheese and port are consumed, “HANGING’S TOO GOOD FOR ‘EM,”

screamed an enraged porter upon tentative ques- how shit the country is

witty banter enjoyed and middle-class smugness

tioning on the subject, before making a frenzied in News, pp. 5-23

engulfs the room like so much cheap perfume

emanating from an aged hooker’s puckered cleav- attempt on this reporter’s life; one doubtlessly

age brought tears of outrage to this reporter’s eyes. inspired by his quite understandable consternation Ill-informed hate mon-

Only a good kicking of an elderly college servant at the situation as it stands. It is an opinion correct gering masquerading as

could calm him down enough to continue this ex- by all measures, including statutory sources re- fact

posé, for the good of the college, and of the ancien cently unearthed in the Perne library, however the

in Editorial, p. 24

regime as a whole. question of exactly what is good enough is proba-

bly of little interest to the obligatory gathering of

It gets worse. Three first year medics are today in braying nobs, all of whom have assembled in Old Oh noes we don’t like

danger of being sent down after what has been Court at the opportunity to avoid supervisions and illegally occupying Iraq

described as a “furious” and “disgusting” orgy of the library opening hours. Their vigil has lasted any more

work in the early hours of Saturday morning. It for over 48 hours to date. One voice of dissent was in Hypocritical Toss, pp.25-9

appears that the three students, who cannot be heard to shout: “Is it a crime to be young?” at

named, retired to one of their rooms in the Wil- around 9.00 yesterday evening, before being set

upon and torn open like a packet of quavers by the Chronicling undeserving

liam Stone Building around 11.00 on Friday eve-

ning and were eventually forced out by a scream- baying mob. millionaire fuckwits’

ing Mr. Meade around 3.00am that morning. Dun- ability to punt a ball

can Groan, a second-year SPS student who alerted The Sex Asks: around to disguise our

the porters after growing concerns about the ac- Should being young be made illegal? If your an- own fundamental inade-

tivities of his next-door neighbour, spoke exclu- swer is ‘yes’, call 0800 067 472; if ‘no’, go fuck quacies as human beings

sively to Skullion: “I was just, like, going to the yourself, you’re not wanted here. Results next

in Sport, pp. 59-75

fridge to get another beer, and, like, there was this week, folks.

THE SEX | Sport





JAGGER SPRINTS INTO STATUTES

Thousands of spectators are expected to throng Trumpington Street

tomorrow to view Peterhouse’s annual Running of the Louis, by far

the most significant event of the college sporting calendar. The

‘Shag-A-Jagger’ as it has become known colloquially, incorporates

the best of Spain’s annual Running of the Bull, the historical British

fondness for hunting and Peterhouse’s own proud tradition of vi-

cious, sneering buggery in a spectacle which can truly be said to

bring the whole college together as a gesticulating, baying commu-

nity. Last year’s first prize was a dead heat for the first time in the

history of the event, with Messrs. Edward Simpson and David Kerr

finally catching up with the petrified Jagger in the bar toilet in a

commendable time of six minutes and twenty-three seconds.



Amid wishy-washy, liberally-democratic talk of the ‘cruelty’ inher-

ent in the sport, The Sex spoke to a first-year Philosopher (whose

name this reporter couldn’t be bothered to ascertain) and top toff

Quentin Quentayne to gauge the view of the student body. “Well, it’s

like fox-hunting, isn’t it,” brayed Quentayne upon questioning. “It’s

what the Jagger was built for in the first place - bloody keen to enter

into the spirit of things, what?” The fox-hunting link was also seized Jagger poses for the cameras prior to yet another

upon by the Peterhouse boff when considering the philosophical eth- punishing training session.

ics of the popular sport. “In many ways it is very much like the hunt-

been invited back annually under such circum-

ing of foxes,” he stated. “Some wet liberals claim it’s an unnecessar-

stances. Mr. Jagger would be privileged enough

ily cruel and bloody event, but coming from the viewpoint of a utili-

to be able to participate in every such event until

tarian there’s no real moral basis for discontent at all. Plus when it

the day he died - doubtless due to massive inter-

comes down to it, it’s one of the most exciting and interesting specta-

nal haemorrhaging, like almost happened last

cles of the year: I doubt even Schopenhauer would grudge us the

year. Simpson and Kerr really were quite keen to

thrill of the chase. Hell, he’d probably join in himself.”

get that first place, eh?”

The success of the sport since its inauguration last year has been so

In this context it will come as little surprise to

rapid that word has reached The Sex of discussions over the feasibil-

Sex readers to learn that Tom Sharpe is already

ity of writing it into the college statutes, giving new generations of

hard at work on a commemorative new title in

Petreans the chance to compete in the Running for the foreseeable

his ‘Porterhouse’ series of humorous novels, en-

future. “If it were to come about, it would be quite a signal honour

titled ‘Porterhouse Brown’. “As a Porterhouse

for Mr. Jagger,” confirmed Serion Turot ‘Big’ Phil Pattenden. “It

Blue in his previous book was considered a

would be the first time in living memory a member of college had

genuine mark of distinction in college, despite

being simply an apoplectic fit brought on by a

gluttonous surfeit, so a ‘Peterhouse Brown’, as it

Did I leave has become known throughout the university, is

the gas on? exactly the same sort of life-threatening honour

for Mr. Jagger, except achieved annually,” ex-

plained Trinity sociologist Dr. Hairy Fitzpatrick.



Mr. Jagger is 19.





INSIDE:

The Sex goes undercover to expose the

“naked” profiteering endemic in Cam-

bridge’s printing houses, and attempts

to explain exactly why colour printing is

so ridiculously expensive these days,

Magazine editor in ‘eschewing obvious molestation quip’ anyway. SEE P. 21

shocker (no Britons hurt).

THE SEX | Comment

should hang the lot of them.

COMMENT: * Don’t let your baby turn into a porcupine. Do

something today. Go to the nearest Pampers factory,

“The Ploughman” tells you what to think. or Boots if you can’t make it there, and ask the lady

behind the counter if the nappies have been sprayed

* Society’s revenge upon its people. Drugs and squalor with anti-porcupine cream. If she hesitates, demand

fill paper bags with young children and run away to the proof. Ask to see the mark of approval, and if neces-

Continent, with nobody lifting a finger. All of this is sary get her to bring you a tub of anti-porcupine

happening under the watchful eye and our family values cream. If she cannot, then your baby is at enormous

are impossible to consider, even before this Labour gov- risk. Unprotected, innocent, and at the mercy of the

ernment. Tuberculosis in education, the police com- elements, his nappies are being provided by an unli-

plaints commission was described as a racially- censed store, whose rapacious employees are maxi-

motivated murder, and over and over again the lessons mising their profits at the expense of our children’s

of the past are in serious neglect of care in the commu- safety. What a sorry state of affairs we have come to.

nity, all working with the trading standards agency to Frankly, it makes me sick, and we should hang the

register civil pollution. Terrorism is an everpresent sig- lot of them.

nal to join arms and unite against the spread of tax cuts;

when will religious imagery in schools announce the * One-eyed, right-wing, rabid newspaper columnists.

death of award-winning tyrant Saddam Hussein? He de- What a right load of menacing bastards. They should

serves every last drop we can salvage from the Enron have been killed off many, many years ago, but, as-

saga. In musical matters, the charts have been taken by tonishingly, many still remain. It’s society’s children

storm, ravaging the Florida coast for over three days I feel for, enveloped within a culture based around

now, with an estimated cost of living in the modern hate, fear, and religious fundamentalism. The lot of

world rising by the hour. It makes me sick and we them make me sick. Now I’m off to hang myself.



THE SEX | News In Pictures









NEWS | IN PICTURES









New Peterhouse canteen proposals “approved Controversy over “tasteless” Peterhouse Fancy Dress competition as

unanimously.” Saddam Hussein entry wins the grand prize.

THE SEX | Culture

going on previous form I





ON GREED can get up to 10 before day

release ends and I report

back to maximum-security.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m

by cultural correspondent not a criminal, honey, but I

had to kill all fifteen of

them or else they’d have

LOUIS JAGGER pushed that maul over the

line, pulling back the score

Peterhouse has for the past two or three years now languished in the difference to a 27-point

thrall of a new and exciting vocabulary. Introduced and propagated gap with ten minutes to go.

by the college’s German and Zimbabwean factions, there are now Rugby really wasn’t my

around five or six inescapable words or phrases which together con- sport anyway, I mean,

stitute the fabric of the college’s verbal tradition. It is, however, a England international, fair Everyday, bog-standard rape...

word derived from the English language that has most enchanted enough, but had I gone

imaginations (well, alongside ‘spade’, but that’s another article, with my heart rather than my fuck-off sleek body and bitch-ass eye

probably written by Josie Price), and that word is ‘greedy’. This for a pass I could have been a chess grandmaster. Anyway, that was

word has permeated all walks of Peterhouse life, from the JCR to before I beat Kasparov under controversial circumstances and had

the sports fields, from the Master’s Lunch to the post-Adonians to retire from the game, with a million regrets, three world titles,

orgy. Less well-established, however, is what the word precisely and five bullets lodged in the base of my skull. Go on, have a feel.

means, and what its purest embodiment is. Some would claim that That one still jiggles about a little.

the greediest sight in college is the sight of Sam ‘The Greed’

Greedyear propping up his golf-bag in the bar, reaching into his This article hasn’t gotten much greedier for the past couple of min-

pocket, and extracting an enormous Havana. Others would suggest utes, so let’s whack on another propane canister and watch your

that, in his own quiet way, Chris ‘Count Tidal Wave’ Morris has rectums collapse with the sheer ass-humping splendour of it all.

eked out a substantial niche of his own within the Peterhouse greed Some women call me ‘The Turret’ because I shoot hard enough to

circuit. A few would then counter that one can get all the greed one down low-flying aircraft, but others don’t actually call me anything

needs purely by holding a five-minute conversation with celebrated because their face is full of my cock within two seconds of seeing

bon viveur, lothario and cunnilinguist James Manning. me. I could probably take SPS and get a double-starred first even

though Peterhouse doesn’t actually offer it as a degree. I can down

What, then, is the true paragon of greed? A consensus, it sadly two yards of ale in under two minutes, do the Trinity Great Court

seems, will never be reached, but what can be said without any run whilst stoned off my face on top-quality Moroccan hashish,

doubt is that all of the above individuals exhibit unusually high lev- brazenly stolen from Dave Kerr’s top-secret underground stash,

els of what I’d like to call Target-Oriented, Ambitious Self-Trust I’ve been sighted in the middle of King’s Lawn flagellating a Royal

(TOAST). All have a high regard of their own abilities, be they on princess, and when I was 4 I bit the dick off a paedophile. I’ve

the golf course, the formal hall, or countless bedrooms up and down heard that by fitting explosives to an ordinary household cat you

the land, and all have set themselves quite defined, if hugely ambi- can wreak havoc in an old folks’ home, and don’t worry if you miss

tious targets (respectively, to get away with wearing tweed 24/7, to a simple pool shot, you can always shove the cue up your own arse

use one’s ridiculous nickname as part of one’s seduction technique, and smile lasciviously at your startled opponent whilst pretending

and to bring every single woman in the world to simultaneous or- to suck off an elephant. Greed is not hunger, it’s lust, it’s naked,

gasm). Greed, however, is not just about ambition. In order to create unbound, unstoppable lust, thrillingly dangerous, utterly inexplica-

something truly greedy, one must somehow pull it all off, somehow ble and morally stagnant. When you’re in its grips, just think about

rise above potential ridicule through the immense application of what you could be doing. And how much more intrinsically awe-

skill, cool or verve. TOAST is only the start; in order to spread some that thing might be. Don’t shy away from the boundaries of

one’s butter before stuffing it down the throats of any gasping greed; there’s a whole way of life waiting out there. Once you get

onlookers, in order to have them all frantically suckling at your teat past the fear, you’ll begin to see what I mean. Now, panties down,

of plenty, one must understand that whatever one is doing now, one I’ve got two pints of milk and a drinking straw waiting for you…

could be doing much more greedily in just five seconds’ time. It’s

about the raising of stakes, the removal of bounds, the risking of

one’s earthly dignity for the sake of the greed-buzz.



Take whatever you’re doing right now, for instance. Sitting in the

JCR? Lie down instead. Eating lunch? Take your trays onto Old

Court and eat it there. Masturbating over my exhilarating prose?

Phone a friend and describe it to them in graphic, unedifying detail.

Many will claim that you are seeking attention. Pay them no heed; if

you are truly greedy, if your TOAST lands sunny-side up every

time, attention will in fact seek you. Upon that note, I’ve realised

that it would be remiss of me not to follow my own advice, and

thus, henceforth, I shall attempt to write this article in an increas-

ingly greedy manner. Five seconds later and I can already imagine

slipping my warm, moistened fingers into your rosy love-socket,

working my way up and down like a particularly bouncy fireman.

You’re whispering in my ear about how you want my Sloppy Jalopy

but I’m saying that all I’m prepared to give is a helicopter, a house

on Long Island, and maybe seven kids if your pelvis is up to it. … and greedy rape. Even the victim can’t suppress a smile of

Then I go and shoot you full of Sloppy Jalopy anyway, because admiration. Consummately done, that man.

frankly you’re only the third whore I’ve fucked this evening and

financial irregularities

with Bursar Greg Richardson

There was a time when I’d have positively pissed myself at the thought of writing for a two-bit rag like this, but then I came to Peter-

house and expectations were drastically lowered. Let’s be honest, were it not for me, the entire central structure of the college would

fall on its arse without a penny-pinching leg to stand on. I am Peterhouse’s salvation, the Necker of the ancien regime that exists in our

hallowed walls – and anyone who says Necker was a direct catalyst of the French Revolution clearly didn’t understand the man’s finan-

cial acumen.



God, but that man was good. The innovation of pushing the representative body to provide him with more money instead of implement-

ing reforms for the good of the country is simply superb. I can only ever be a mere disciple of his, but trust me, I’m trying to carry on

his work in my own humble way right here in Peterhouse.



I’ve been asked to detail my reports from last year and my plans for the coming year. Firstly I’d like to point out that this is in no way a

binding contract and that I maintain the right to change my mind at any given point during this next financial year. Secondly I’d like to

make perfectly clear that any objections you may have to my forthcoming plans may be directed through the proper route of the Sex-

centenary Club which I will then proceed to ignore in accordance with my past policy.



In the past year, I have increased Peterhouse revenue by approximately £30,000 (sterling). I have amassed this amount through various

means as listed below:



1. PATesting – A superb plan: many thanks to my friend Kev Cock over in Maintenance for the reminder that I was risking jail time by

not enforcing PATesting of electrical appliances. After hours of effort, I managed to locate the cheapest PATesting company in the

whole of Cambridgeshire who were willing to charge just 10 pence per item tested. I then added £2.40 (sterling) onto this charge for

each item. I averaged out that each student would have approximately 10 items equating to a £24 (sterling) profit per room. Fantastic!

However, thanks to the bleatings of the damned Sex Club I was forced to lower the profit margin to only £1.40 (sterling) which brought

profits down to just £14 (sterling) per room (approx.) Nevertheless, despite this totally unnecessary setback, the net proceeds from this

plan earned Peterhouse a tidy £6000 (sterling). After subtracting my £1000 (sterling) ‘commission’, the rest of the money was able to

replace all the faulty College equipment which had been regrettably failed during the PATesting. Students can now rest easy that the

Bursar’s Department will be upgrading all previously unsafe electrical equipment in college. This may well become an annual thing, or

possibly biannual, dependent on funds in six months time.



2. Bentley Road – This was a new idea implemented this year. Rather than give AMALS less money and risk an unwanted and, I fear,

severe backlash, I opted for a more roundabout route. At present, Peterhouse owns the sports ground on Bentley Road and rent it to

Clare College who, in turn, rent it back to AMALS. I decided it would be more beneficial to Peterhouse to have the money back in the

coffers residing in my plush office than in the hands of the useless AMALS treasurers whose economic know-how is roughly equiva-

lent to that of a Peterhouse English student (or one of their Economics students, come to that). Ergo, I upped the rent by £7000

(sterling). See the genius? To be frank, I was surprised AMALS paid out. This gives me hope for more increases next year in a similar

fashion.



3. Minimum sign-outs – My personal favourite. Learn from the past dear friends, food is where the heart lies - or something like that

anyway. The point being, that students need food. Given the choice between stocking up on Sainsbury’s Basics to lug back here and

eating ready-made food in hall – what are they really going to do? And if there’s any lingering doubt in their mind, I made sure they

had to eat in hall thirty-five times each term. With the recent contracts negotiated with PigSwill Limited, the Greater Cambridge Glue

Factory Inc. and the Addenbrookes morgue, food now costs less than twenty pence per person, so a vast profit will shortly be collected

on every one of those compulsory signouts. Add to this the extra signouts I bung onto various bills of unsuspecting, uninquiring stu-

dents and we’ve got ourselves a nice little earner. Should any anal Mathmo actually note the exact number of signouts he’s had in a

term, it always makes for a laugh to hear him busily arguing with my harassed staff downstairs in the Pleb Department.



4. Heating surcharge – Possibly the best yet. Electricity prices were already as extortionate as I dared make them without risking a

stampede of my room. Where else could I go? A surcharge naturally! On top of pricey electricity bills, I then added one simple pay-

ment of £25 (sterling) equating to an extra £7500 (sterling) (approx.) The extra genius of this is that any objectors would gain an extra

monthly charge of 2% interest and eventually still have to pay – every way we win! Even better than this, Kev and I managed to keep

the heating off until late October so we saved hundreds on the Peterhouse bill while gaining money from the students at the same time.

Fab!



I feel confident that you will join with me in celebration of the financial gains I have made, for your college. Thanks to me, Peterhouse

is officially number 6 in Varsity’s recent list of the richest colleges. I have single-handedly pulled us into the big boys’ league tables –

and let’s be fair, you weren’t going to get us up the academic tables were you?



Plans for next year – Extract your student loan from your desperate hands in ever more creative ways. But remember: it’s for Peter-

house and not because I actually enjoy pissing you off. Much.



Yours,

Greg Richardson

Peterhouse Director-General of Finances

THE SECRET DIARY OF PROFESSOR

MAURICE CHRISTOPHER, AGED 25½

Recently unearthed in the Perne Library, The Sex brings you the exclusive account of one of the briefest and yet most singular

fellowships in Peterhouse’s long and distinguished history.





Dear Diary, at window has begun again. Saw a fleeting shadow too, I think.

Things going well. Well, going. Arrived yesterday and have Maybe I should get some more sleep.

already been given a large research budget; a tad hopeful. Will

be spent on fags and pickled onion monster munch. Slightly Dear Diary,

odd that I appear to be the only fellow under the age of 50 but Senior tutor not happy at recent outburst. Demanded to see me

never mind, maybe I can freshen the place up a bit. Must sort in gown, 12 noon sharpish. He didn’t wear his gown – felt ag-

out pesky rattling noise at window. Doesn’t seem to be present grieved. Otherwise, meeting satisfactory. Arranged to meet for

when drunk. Note to self – consult students re: going on razz, quiet drinks later in evening.

Saturday.

Dear Diary,

Dear Diary, Drinks went hazily. Woke up wearing, or sort of wearing, row-

Rattling at window again – will double wine intake at dinner, ing lycra. Pink in colour, tight in nature. Smudged blusher too,

have found this works a treat at blocking it out. Dressed to of all things. Ashamedly scuttled back to my rooms. Misde-

impress for today’s lunch, so was rather perturbed at the trend meanour must have been by students; can’t remember much

towards too-loose dressing gowns and stubbly old-man legs in about after the senior tutor meeting (except gathered blurred

the common room. Put me off lunch. Until I saw lunch, which figures after the fourth? tenth? drink). Either way, too embar-

put me off more. Note to self: send lunch to lab for analysis. rassed to enquire properly – I just hope word doesn’t get back

to the top. Feel a profound embarrassment, mixed with a

Dear Diary, strangely hollow feeling (mostly emotionally).

Big night out tonight. Mustn’t stay out too long; a big student

Amnesty meeting in the bar on Monday afternoon; thought I’d Dear Diary,

go to show some solidarity. Ought to get on with marking too; Am still receiving large quantities of conspicuous looking mail.

make a good first impression and all that. Students seem amia- Am not best amused at present – joke has gone too far. Sur-

ble enough; trying the ‘good cop’ approach after the withering prised to have finished bottle of JD already. Of course the little

tone of my colleague in relation to their work. Think they de- bastards can write notes to me, but not the essays I set. I mean,

serve a chance, personally. who else can it be? Sometimes it’s not easy being the youngest

fellow in college – difficult not to feel ‘one of the boys’ but at

Dear Diary, the same time maybe I should start to show a tad more decorum

Monday. Good night on Sunday. Pulled a right stunner; and responsibility in front of the students.

cheered by the students and eventually carried home like a

Spartan warrior. Woke late. Shame about Amnesty, but it’s not Dear Diary,

as if the prisoners going anywhere any time soon, so quite Beginning to feel terribly depressed with this place, with its

cheerful overall. weird flitting shadows and rhythmic bumps and bangs more

and more frequent at night. Strange moaning accompanying

Dear Diary, some of these; seemed to come from Proctor’s room but didn’t

Was most offended at breakfast. Several tasteless remarks by want to wake him. He seemed fine this morning though, if a

‘senior’ colleagues about the role of women in society. Have little tired. Window rattling has become epidemic; rhythmic

already noticed a distinct lack of female serving staff; just men sounds which invade my dreams, along with distant laughter.

(none of whom seem to be over the age of 18. Possible wage Disproportionate attention is being brought to my person at the

dodge? Rather unusually tight uniforms too, I note – maybe the moment – feel like a black sheep among a field of pristine Ar-

college should order some replacements.) Reprimanded those yan pure-breds. And yet they’re all so decrepit. I get the feeling

responsible quite eloquently, I thought; was laughed from I am being watched more and more constantly, keep glancing at

room. Pathetically hollow, mocking laughter, yet couldn’t help bushes and down alleys. The shadows seem to be gaining on

feeling somewhat hurt. Would rather eat alone than with ani- me, feels like my brain tightens every day. Hopefully, this eve-

mals anyway. One strange comment about finding out “exactly ning’s ‘important dinner’ may be an opportunity to unwind and

what a woman’s role is” as I slammed the door behind me. let my hair down! Note to self – ask one of fellows’

Wonder if the fellows came with the original college; they ‘boys’ (their term, not mine) to see me home well this evening

don’t seem to realise they live much after the eighteenth cen- – no accidents like last time, I hope.

tury. 17.00: Students have singularly failed to get essays in. If

emails are to be believed there must be an epidemic around, Dear Diary,

though curiously of vastly differing diseases. Still, they’re Woke up, floundering in a sea of despair, all around me memo-

probably just getting into the swing of term. 22.00: No rattling ries, or a lack thereof. I thought I told those boys to get me to

tonight. Surprising, though I was too busy angrily emailing to bed on time. Remember them looking strange at the time – al-

take much notice. Note to self – raise awareness of women’s most as if they were expecting a similar sentiment – but re-

rights around college. They have the vote too. 4.00am: Rattling member nothing from around 10.00 onwards. Seminar to give

this morning, won’t look too clever if I turn up smelling of rum Dear Diary,

and vomit. Slightly salty too. Except, judging by the stability of Woke in the middle of Old Court after vivid dreams. Rhythmic

my stomach this morning, I am beginning to doubt whether or not banging in my head, breath on my neck, pain and laughter some-

it is actually my vomitus. Can’t imagine how much alcohol I must where in the background. Such dreams. Why can I never remem-

have imbued to have had this effect – not felt like this since after ber?? I seem to becoming one of them – their drunken stupors,

that vindaloo back home. Note to self – try to gather information their leering decrepitude. I feel hunted, watched, the helpless prey

regarding last nights events: may put my mind at ease. of a vindictive predator, in line to be slaughtered for the fun and

amusement of watching others.

Dear Diary,

Couldn’t sleep last night. My fingernails are down to the quick, Dear Diary,

although a sleepless night does give one the opportunity to reflect Banging gets louder and LOUDER. Laughter all around. And

on the events of the past. I feel I am losing myself in a tightening moans. My own I note, and yet don’t seem to be able to care. Dis-

net of fear, common sense flowing through the holes, leaving me a placed images keep coming back to me; the feeling of slipperiness,

shivering wreck of skin and bones and missed opportunities and and everywhere the hollow mocking laughter. So familiar, and yet

dashed hopes and nervous glances wherever I go. May see the so difficult to place. Memories? Strange feeling as I tried to suck

Dean about this. I feel my problems are deeply affecting my work the last drops out of another whiskey bottle; almost recollection.

and I frankly hate to see myself plunged into this dreadful state – Feel broken. Violated somehow. Banging seems to increase.

what will others think of me? Keep getting flashes; part-dream, Rhythmic. And the feeling of the bottleneck. Against my lips. The

part-memory, all hell. Such dreams though. It is barely tolerable to laughter, ringing hollow through the gaping corridors of my mind.

think about it. Window banging seems to keep pace with my All this fits. It’s all the same thing; the fellows, this fucking col-

quickened heartbeat; still hear moanings, rhythmic as well, but are lege, all part of me now, burrowed deep into my psyche in the

they real or imagined; mine or my mystery neighbour’s? Students pounding rhythm of despair. WHY will they not leave me alone?

avoid me now; received an essay vastly plagiarised from my own Oh God[…]

book last night – the first of the term – but simply not up to yet

another angry email.

Editor’s note: These diary entries formed a key part in the inquiry

Dear Diary, into the death of Professor Maurice Christopher in October 1992,

I am way in over my head at the moment. I feel unwell. Paranoia before being restored to college due to the lack of any contactable

pumps through my sinews, burning behind my eyes and saturating next-of-kin. Despite the massive internal injuries discovered fol-

my very soul. Yet how can a man be ill if he is well enough to lowing a post-mortem, the level of alcohol in the victim’s system

contemplate his illness? I need help. Another unwelcome opportu- and the lack of any other collaborating evidence led the coroner

nity for an evening of fine wining and dining on the horizon – to record a verdict of death by misadventure. No formal charges

though maybe a chance to seek out the Dean. were ever brought. Professor Christopher was interred in the tra-

ditional resting place for Peterhouse fellows, next to Little St

Mary’s Church, Cambridge. His grave can be visited to this day.









ONE-LINERS

Smurf village sues White Tac manufacturers over racism row



Wardrobe manufacturer comes out of the closet



Welsh plumber fixes leek



Hare to sue tortoise over doping allegations



Rock around the cock: prehistoric contraceptive discovered



Brer Rabbit controversy over “unfeasible” child support pay-

ments



Wolf in sheep’s clothing comes out as transvestite



New ‘dope on a rope’ introduced to combat junkie hygiene



Video held in Radio Star homicide investigation



Faecophobic pig: “Not happy”



Pioneering heart surgery patient contracts cancer; fails to

see irony



Tall tale gets short shrift



Pope Catholic Shock

MEETING WITH AN ASSASSIN

by Georgina Stooke-Vaughan



As I was walking up the stairs, donkey-laden with plastic bags I paused a while before saying, “Yes, I think I see, it

baring the timely slogan, “Sainsbury’s – Try something new to- could be considered inefficient to put time and effort into indi-

day”, my eye caught the room of my housemate laid bare for all viduals who would not use it to their best advantage.”

to see. The main feature of the room at that time was himself, “Exactly! Hence the need for the Assassin’s Guild, a self

stretched and leaning back in his chair at a jaunty angle, bal- contained method for ensuring the discrepancy between input

ancing on the back two legs with his feet, encased in long black and output is not too great.”

boots, making a definite statement on his desk. Such a definite “And your smug expression?”

statement in fact that I had to pause in my ascent, place the “I have finally tracked down and dealt with the last and

basics baked beans and biscuits filled bags on the floor and look most evasive target on my list, one who had thwarted previous

into his room, waiting until he noticed me before I entered. attempts with… self defence measures.”

“You’re looking pleased with yourself”, I said by way of “Not an easy task I take it?”

introduction. “Not for a head strong being who rushes in without prior

“Well you would be too, if you’d just had the success planning, but if time is taken to create a strategy and one has a

I’ve had.” little luck.”

“And what would that be?” I asked, intrigued. At this point I had to work very hard to suppress a chuckle,

“I have just crossed another name off my list, but of the thought of my housemate taking time to plan anything was a

course, you wouldn’t know what that means.” A frown crossed very alien one, though the sight of a long black coat with pock-

my face, “Of course I won’t know until you tell me.” He paused, ets bulging oddly hanging on the back of the door when I had

looked at me in an interrogatory fashion for a moment, before closed it served to stifle any merriment, which was effectively

smiling a sly grin and saying “What could it matter if I tell a simple turned into a cough.

plebeian such as yourself. Come in, come in, but close the door!” “So how did it happen?”

Not wishing to miss the opportunity to gain some more useless He paused, savouring the thought. “After making care-

knowledge (Cambridge was doing a brilliant job of filling my ful ... observations of her movements over several days, I knew

head with the stuff), I walked into his room, closing the door be- she was highly likely to be home at lunchtime. So awaiting my

hind me. opportunity outside the entrance to her accommodation I

Another interrogatory glance was sent my way before slipped in behind the bedder as she left the house. Creeping

he put his hands together, interweaving his fingers and stretching upstairs I stopped when the strong smell of toast reached my

his arms above his head while leaning even further back in his nostrils. I stopped, listening. There were female voices emanating

chair, until I thought he might topple backwards dangerously. from what had to be the kitchen, and even better one was ask-

Fortunately all stayed in balance, and he returned to his original ing the other about a usually unexpected object, a gun! A reply

position. I smiled. He shot me a glance. “Have you ever heard of came that one couldn’t be too careful these days, which pe-

the Assassins Guild?” tered out in a rather vague manner. The questioner’s voice,

“The what guild?” I asked, suddenly looking con- though obviously not satisfied, had better things to do or didn’t

founded. want to talk to such ‘crazy’ people and said a farewell. Upon

“I’d thought as such, a bit of a disappointment really which I pressed against the wall around the corner and was in

considering it is one of the older, more well thought of guilds. By luck as the girl walked past without looking left or right. If not I

those who require its services anyway.” may have had serious problems, it is considered very bad eti-

“What does it do?” quette to kill an innocent. My heartbeat began to race, I just had

“Pretty much what it says on the tin, each term Assassins to wait for my target to leave the kitchen, knowing she was

are given a list of fellow students who are selected for certain armed going into the kitchen would have been suicide. Eventu-

qualities, or lack of you could say.” ally with the sound of draining water I heard her leave, now if I

“Carry on.” could just not be seen!” By now his eyes had acquired a far-off

“Simple really, these are students who are not doing as look as he recollected every detail. He barely even noticed me

the University wishes them to, so are chosen for, uhm, alleviation get up. “Once again, my luck was in, the food in her belly must

of wasted resources.” have made her drop her guard as she too walked past without

looking round the corner and noticing me. Before she had

walked far past me I stepped forward, and stabbed her in the

NEWSFLASH back. My duty done, I left as quickly as possible; the Guild will not

take steps to help any Assassin discovered at the scene. And

that you see, is why I may be considered to be ‘pleased with’

myself.”

Upon completing his monologue he once more put his hands

together, interweaving his fingers to stretch his arms above his

head while continuing to lean back in his chair. He turned, as if to

BUNDLE! read my reaction. He didn’t stand a chance. It was with only a

very little effort that I nudged his chair that little further back, un-

balancing it, so his head was thrown back and smashed against

the corner of the coffee table with a wet crack. He didn’t even

scream. There wasn’t time.

You see, the Guild had told me of an Assassin with an in-

creasingly cocksure attitude and dress including large black

boots and a long black coat, far too stereotyped for maintaining

the Assassin’s secrecy. It was after all considered extremely bad

etiquette to talk of the Guild, and even more so to brag about

successes to a “simple plebeian” as I had been careful to ap-

pear.

My job done I left the room and continued the ascent to

my room with my shopping. Best to leave the scene quickly; that

Police announce new leads in investigation of Peterhouse

bang as his head smacked against the edge of the table had

mathmo’s recent tragic hospitalisation. been a little too loud for my liking. This wasn’t a game, after all.

behind still definitely make one a ho-

mosexual?”



EPISCOPAL EPISTLES Yes, Mister Mandlebrote, I am afraid it

does and there is no doctorate in it either.

Moreover, since the Sodom and Gomor-

rah Act's passage through Parliament

The Right Reverend and Right Honourable Doctor James Lloyd, Lord Bishop of Chichester, Fellow of the (well lubricated by my all-female team of

Royal Historical Society, Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries, having beaten, bribed and blackmailed his way suspender-wearing, whip-wielding

up the ranks of the Church of England, as well as having walked the inert spines of his many victims to gov-

ernment's top job, being unique in British history as the only man to be both Prelate of Sussex and Prime Min-

Whips), it is also illegal. You have a

ister of the Crown simultaneously, distinguished historian, theologian, linguist, philologist, political theorist choice. You can either confess to the Po-

and racist, restorer of the British Empire, re-introducer of shillings and reviver of the Teletubbies, takes a break lice, be arrested and suffer the indignity

from wife beating, gay-slaying and race hate to hear your confessions and advise you on how best to kill your- of trial and imprisonment, or you can

self.

take the gentleman's way out and join Ian

McKellan and Elton John in the Ferret

“Dear Bishop, I am a moderately southernness as essential for salvation. Pit, in the basement of the Episcopal Pal-

charismatic student at a Cambridge Northerners do not go to Heaven. ace in Chichester. Your one crumb of

college and, having already achieved comfort is that you and any other Sodo-

the distinction of the college darts cap- “Please help me, Bishop. I was born mites condemned with you will be al-

taincy, I feel I should be on top of the blind and yet have tried to lead as lowed to grease one another with bacon

world. And yet I have harboured a righteous a life as possible. I am an fat just before being shoved down the

terrible secret since childhood that active churchgoer, and have raised flume, where my little beasties (well,

still stops me sleeping at night. I can't over £2000 for local charities through quite big beasties, actually) will await

resist dressing up and parading in various fundraising events, as well as you, one final act of carnality to ensure

front of the mirror (a shirt, tie and founding a nationwide helpline for your eternal damnation. You may wish to

occasionally even shoes), enjoy modi- Christians who have lost their sight bear in mind that men sent into the Ferret

fying my voice to make it softer and and are having difficulty coping. And Pit tend not to come out again. Every

fantasise daily about being able to yet last night I ended up touching my- week, I send in a servant to clear out the

walk down the street without attract- self - sexually - in a moment of bore- bones. More often than not, he does not

ing the same old scornful, vitriolic dom. Could my condition be a pre- come out again, either.

glances. I know that traditionally such emptive punishment by the Lord for

thoughts have been subject to both this wicked and unjustifiable trans- “James, I've got the test back and the

religious and social stigma, but does gression? I'm distraught.” kid's yours. I've spoken to my lawyers

the modern church hold out any hope and you can either pay me 20% until

for people who, like me, are desperate So, committed an Onanism, have you? I he turns 18 or I'm going to the press.

to become southerners?” doubt that your blindness is a pre- M. xxx”

emptive punishment. Punishing people

Dear Chris, some are born southern, before they have actually committed a Good grief, not another one. Being Prime

some achieve southernness and some crime is the sort of thing a Labour politi- Minister, as well as a full-time prelate, I

have southernness thrust upon them, be- cian would do, not God Almighty. In- am not exactly impecunious, so twenty

tween the legs, by me, after a hard, hard stead, your sin was probably induced by per cent is no trouble at all. What does

night out. Your quest for southernness is what is technically known as penuria worry me is the school fees. No bastard

to be commended and encouraged, on feminae, which, as any educated man of mine is going to some comp and I no

religious as well as social grounds. The knows, means "want of woman". Many

Bible exhorts us to be as like unto Jesus men are choosing to pleasure themselves

as we possibly can be and, as any Chris- on women these days as it is far more

tian knows, Jesus is a southerner. His involved and satisfies two people at

parents had to travel south to Bethlehem once. The problem of unwanted dialogue

in order to ensure that the Messiah can be solved by a simple gag. Being

would be considered a southerner and, blind, you will not be able to assess a

having been rejected by His northern woman's assets by sight, so I suggest that

neighbours in Nazareth, He had to travel you use touch instead. I often do this

southwards to Jerusalem, in order to myself, though, in a typical case of dou-

bring about Man's salvation. In the ble standards, when I do it, it is called

south, we have such jewels as culture, "groping" and is wrong, for some reason.

the arts and Kent. The only good thing You, on the other hand, are likely to get

you have in the North is prostitutes. away with it. Indeed, your blindness may

While it is true that Jesus Himself con- even be a blessing for this very reason,

sorted with prostitutes, tax collectors and one of which I recommend you take full

all the other sinners one is likely to find advantage.

in northern parts, when asked to justify

Himself, He replied that it is the sick “I am a respected History fellow at a

who need a physician, His implication college in Cambridge and yet I have a The Sex’s former religious consultant

clearly being that northerners are, by problem. We needn't go into sordid Father Curtis, tragically mauled to death

definition, sick. Thus it is clear that it is details about yesterday evening but, in by beavers in a diplomatic visit to

incumbent on any Christian to aspire to this modern age, does taking it from Canada last year.

longer influence educational policy are my all time, number one, favourite

(decentralization of power - it seemed sexist bigot and homophobe. I have - “Bishop, following a heated argument

such a good idea at the time). A decent based my whole life on your teachings. I with my ignorant, blasphemous fuckwit

education for the Brats of Chichester, particularly liked your introduction to of a boyfriend, could you confirm for me

however, is increasingly hard to find, Romans: "they which do such things that there is a scriptural reference to

especially after my oldest son, Tris- [Sodomy] are worthy of death". You Our Lord Jesus Christ riding a bicycle?

megistus, having listened a little too in- really knew how to tell the gaybos where ’Just a phrase’ indeed!”

tently to my sermon about how God to shove it. Galatians is less impressive:

- “I am a vicar who holds weekly Church

rained fire onto Sodom for its homo- "there is neither Jew nor Greek . . . for

of England meetings, and my members

sexuality, took divine retribution into his ye are all one in Christ Jesus" reeks a

have recently been grumbling at the

own hands and burnt down the Hall at little bit too much of racial inclusive-

poor quality of refreshments. Instead of

Winchester College. How about I pay ness. Still, nobody is perfect. Look at plain old Kingsmill Wholegrain, what

thirty per cent and you hire a private Jesus. All right, so He is the Son of God are the theological implications of using

tutor? but what a leftie! croissants in the sacrament? Isn’t it all

symbolic anyway?”

“Bishop, I am deeply concerned about

the safety of my soul. I have always NEXT WEEK - “Bishop, I’ve been watching you for

considered myself a perfectly normal many weeks now, and after seeing your

woman, with no inclination towards - “Since my childhood in a monastery subtle working of the chalice on Sunday

unorthodoxy or sin, yet my Vicar re- I’ve always thought of myself as a nor- I now know you feel the same way. Meet

cently informed me that for a woman mal guy, but yesterday to my horror I me by the gents’ toilets on Parker’s

to commit systematic adultery every found myself thinking lascivious Piece at 7.00 on Monday: bring the

man on her street in alphabetical or- thoughts about a woman. I’m scared I communion wine and prepare yourself

der is unchristian. I was never aware might be some sort of sexual deviant. for the administration of extreme unc-

of this and have in fact been making a How do I stand theologically? Will this tion. My wife need never know. Please

point of sleeping with just about every impact upon my lifelong dream to be- come. If you aren’t there I’ll know you

come a priest?” want me to end it all like the dream told

male I meet since I was twelve. Is

there really something wrong with me.”

- “Bishop, yesterday my five year-old told

this?”

me he didn’t believe in God. After re-

peated beatings the blasphemies have The author would like to re-assure

You, madam, are a wanton whore. When stopped but I still see a satanistic glim-

are you free? readers of The Sex that "Bishop

mer of doubt in his swollen little eyes. James" is a fictitious character who,

How do I put him back onto the path of although a warped representation of

“Could you lend me a pair of sun- redemption more definitively? I’ve had Mister Lloyd himself, does not accu-

glasses?” - Saul, Damascus. a hard enough time as it is since his rately reflect his theological, social or

father died, and the last thing I need at

Wow! This can only be Saint Paul, political opinions in any way, which

the moment is my only child careering

Christianity's greatest evangelist! You are, in reality, far more inflammatory

recklessly towards the path of sin.”

than this.





having a twenty-page magazine to edit, now with one less

TOP TEN... contributor to relieve even a little of the soul-destroying

tedium of composition. [Paraphrased – Ed.]



“I’m sorry, I didn’t send you anything for The Sex 6. Mr. Smith unfortunately died on Tuesday morning after

after all because…” choking on a whelk. You are, however, cordially invited to

attend his funeral, starting at 9.00 on Thursday at Little

1. I’m James Manning. St. Mary’s Church, Cambridge.



2. I have recently been diagnosed with a genetic condition 7. Who are you? How did you get my email address? Cease

which prevents me from writing for ill-conceived, poorly- your correspondence immediately, or I’ll inform the po-

circulated student publications. I could still try to write lice.

for you if you really needed it, but the doctors say I

couldn’t survive another attack after my article in Var- 8. I’m washing my hair this evening. Apologies, Bryn.

sity.

9. I’ve simply changed my mind about writing without

3. My Neopet ate my submission. telling you or attempting to get in contact with you in any

way, despite your repeated emails. This is because I’m an

4. AutoResponse: Thank you for your message. I will be insufferable wanker, and if natural justice has any say at

out of the office until Wednesday 22nd November and will all in the world I should hopefully suffer some kind of

be unable to respond until I return. Yours, Scott Mandel- emasculating pool-cue related injury in the immediate

brote. future. [Paraphrased, if you can paraphrase the email-

shaped absence of a message in my inbox – Ed.]

5. I have a lot of work on over the next few days, a situa-

tion with which you obviously can’t empathise, despite 10. You’re a cock.

A MATHMO GUIDE Peterhouse. He has drunk alcohol on more than one occasion. He

sometimes speaks to a member of the opposite sex about a topic other

than maths.

There are three main types of mathematician: the Typical, the Atypical

and the Engineer-in-Disguise. Being able to identify them from a dis- Female mathmos also come in these three categories. It is worth not-

tance is often useful in avoiding awkward social situations. ing that a Typical female mathmo will only date other mathmos, and a

female Engineer-in-Disguise will only date non-mathmos, so don't

The Typical Mathmo: He tends to hide in his room doing maths all bother asking.

the time. He may occasionally emerge for meals or for talks by the

Archimedeans (the university maths society). Some have been known Advice for male fresher mathmos: Be aware of your own type and

to try rowing or the Assassins Guild, but no other societies. This type don't bother trying to deny it too much. Bear in mind that in general,

of mathmo is very common at Trinity. non-mathmo girls will only date Engineers-in-Disguise. Some female

NatScis will accept Atypical Mathmos, but this is fairly rare. There is

The Atypical Mathmo: He has a lot in common with the typical one girl in Cambridge who is not a mathmo but will date Typical

mathmo, but has learnt that social skills might occasionally be useful. Mathmos. However, she is already engaged to one.

He is not only aware that the JCR contains a pool table, he has even

used it once or twice, though he has never won a game. He may be on Advice on social life: To Engineers-in-Disguise: Do not lie about

the committee of the Archimedeans, or have joined another society, to being a mathmo. People will find out eventually, and the results will

show that he is making an effort. However, most people in college still not be pretty. To Atypical Mathmos: Formal is not that scary. Formal

don't recognise his name. swaps are a great way to meet other mathmos and talk about maths.

Then you can pretend you have a social life. To Typical Mathmos:

The Engineer-in-Disguise: He is not really a mathmo at all, he just Give up. You're clearly destined for a career in either research or ac-

happens to be studying the same course as them. He is seen regularly at countancy. You will be competing with people who spend 16 hours a

social events and has seen the bar of a college other than day doing maths, so you need to catch up.

‘Michelin Man: Tasters Of A

Doomed Relationship’ By Pilar Garrard

Fennel Marmalade. That’s what he called it, standing by the hob in the kitchen of his south London flat. He’d finely chopped the fennel

with one of his diamond sharpened knives and tossed it in the pan. Then he added the juice of two oranges and one lemon: halved symmetri-

cally by him, juiced self-consciously by her. Some salt, some sugar, reduced for a few minutes and it was ready. Fennel marmalade; to go with

the shortbread and white chocolate foam. He arranged it meticulously on a white dish that wasn’t sure whether it was a plate or a bowl but

was smug enough to display his masterpiece. “There you go” he shrugged modestly as he passed her a fork and a spoon. They ate it there and

then, standing in the tiny kitchen looking out across the jumbled back gardens and allies; out across to Canary Wharf and the Millennium

Dome that sat there like some pretentious mass of egg white and sticks of crystallised saffron. They left the washing up for later.



She loved it there, lying on his plain white duvet watching DVDs with the window open, letting in the sweet warm summer breeze and the

muffled sound of the city: occasional shouts from the street, the high pitched braking of the double-deckers like a burst of steam and birds

singing despite the urban sprawl. Sometimes they ate foam made from Baileys while watching Asian horror films, other times they ate cheap

chocolate bars, licking the crumbs of their fingers, watching American cartoons and laughing till they fell off the bed. She liked the films

best: he’d seen them all before so he’d cover her eyes at the appropriate moment. Once, the first time, he left his hand there. He let it drop

from her eyes so it hovered over her trembling lips. She didn’t move. At least not until his other hand found her most ticklish spot on her

waist: one touch and she was utterly helpless. He’d introduced her to lots of films but she could never tell you what happened at the end. She

said he distracted her; he said she distracted herself.



It was so wet that her shoes were letting water in. She stood there, huddled in a door way in a back-street of Mayfair, hoping the Japanese

bouncers from the casino next-door wouldn’t ask the questions she could sense forming on their grinning lips. The door across the road

opened and closed, opened and closed; but each time it was someone else. Sometimes they glanced across at the fragile figure waiting expec-

tantly in the disused door way, but they hurried off for their well-earned break or shuffled back inside to start laying out the napkins. Finally

he emerged, sorry he was late, he’d been gutting an eel. “I’m going to take you to tea. Let’s go this way.” He took her hand, fingers inter-

linked and held her close. They kissed. One of the Japanese bouncers kicked a bottle cap off the kerb. “Thank you for coming”. He took her

to a restaurant faced with blue glass that had fish tanks in the walls and waiting staff in long white aprons. The cherry blossom and black

lacquer complimented the dim sum and sushi they served at lunch. He ordered afternoon tea, letting her choose the tea from a list a page

long. The tiny sandwiches, scones and bejewelled cakes were a homage to the Eastern fascination in and devotion to minutiae. A little tray of

plain white, square dishes held the cream and jams. He looked quizzically at the tawny goo in the end dish. He spread it carefully on a per-

fectly proportioned scone. She watched amused at his intense concentration. She was anxious not to do the wrong thing; this was more his

world than hers. “It’s lemon curd. I think.”. She picked up the dish to examine it for herself. He dipped a finger in his own. “Yeah, it must

be. It’s lemon curd.” She giggled. “Isn’t it honey? You can see the bits of wax from the comb.” “Ok, that’s embarrassing. I’m supposed to be

a chef and I can’t recognise honey.” He reached across the table and stroked her thumb. She grinned back. He gazed at her expressionless; his

eyes said enough. She glanced away, sipped her tea and looked back. His eyes hadn’t moved from her face.



Scallops only need a couple of minutes on each side. The pan was so hot it creaked and let off steam even before be poured on the oil. He

was standing well back. His arms were covered with scars and there was already a plaster on his left index finger: perfection on a plate meant

more to him than physical pain. But those wounds were from a different kitchen, getting burnt while cooking at home would just look fool-

ish. The heat was intense. Any longer and all hope would be lost. He pressed each scallop delicately with his assured touch. Done. He

handed her the plate, each scallop sitting on a bed of identical baby spinach leaves and dribbled with a tomato consumée. “Aren’t you having

some?” She offered him her fork. “No”. He lent back against the sink and watched her eat. She looked up, her eyes heaving with questions.

He shook his head. Then, a moment too late, he smiled and wrapped his arm around her waist. He tickled her. She stiffened and squirmed

against his side. He kissed her.



She was back in the disused door way. It wasn’t raining and it wasn’t the afternoon. She looked at her watch: five to two. It wouldn’t be long

now surely. The door across the road opened and closed. What was she doing here? This was it, the only opportunity, it was now or never.

He would tell her if he saw she’d made the effort. Maybe. Just maybe. The door opened and closed. This was ridiculous. Why did she let

them leave her. They had waited all night, they agreed she had to do it. Go for it. She had waited months, she knew she had to do it. Oh

fuck, what was she doing. It was too dark he probably wouldn’t even see her. The door opened. He saw her. He came straight across.

“Happy Birthday.” The door on the other side of the road closed. “Is that why you’re here?” He let her hug him. She pressed her body to his

and held him tight, searching for the once familiar response his skin gave to her touch. His hand was on the small of her back but more to

keep his balance than anything else. He barely touched her. She pulled away. She couldn’t cry. Somehow tears wouldn’t have expressed the

complete nothingness she could feel weighing down her stomach. He was practically asleep on his feet. His eyes were half closed and he

looked at her as if she was standing behind herself; his gaze didn’t settle properly on her. It didn’t fit. “Do you know how to get home from

here?” He read a text message he’d just received. “No”. She’d never felt like more of a fool. “Fine, come with me. I’ll take you to the station.”

They walked along side by side. She didn’t dare get too close. All this was so unlike her. What did she think she was doing? And yet she felt

more like herself than she’d ever done before. They got a bus to the station. He took her to the platform. She got on the train. It wasn’t leav-

ing for twenty minutes. She sat and stared at the lump of chewing gum on the floor.

Arts students of the world rejoice: it’s Chris Darlow’s seminal treatise on...







HOW TO WRITE AN ESSAY

1. Sit in a straight, comfortable chair in a well-lit

place with plenty of freshly sharpened pencils.

2. Read over the essay question carefully, to make

sure you understand it.

3. Go downstairs to your gyp to make some coffee, to

help you concentrate.

4. On your way back up stop in on a friend also do-

ing the same essay. If your friend hasn't started the Well, thank

paper yet either, you can both walk to McDonald's goodness there’s

and buy a hamburger to help you concentrate. If a zoom function.

your friend shows you his paper, typed, double-

spaced, and bound in one of those irritating see-thru Bet you’ve

plastic folders, drop-kick him in the gonads. never seen one

5. When you get back to your room, sit in a straight, quite as impres-

comfortable chair in a clean, well-lit place with plenty sive as that.

of freshly sharpened pencils.

6. Read over the essay question again to make abso-

lutely certain you understand it.

7. Check your e-mail; reply to everyone who sent you

letters.

8. Check Facebook, just to see if anyone’s written on

your wall. Poke back anyone who’s poked you.

9. You know, you haven't written to your friend from

Chrissy D displaying his holiday snaps, doubtless

secondary school for at least a year... you'd better after yet another gruelling day of satirical writing.

write that letter now and get it out of the way so you

can concentrate. 24. Read over the essay question again; roll the

10. Go look at your teeth in the bathroom mirror. words across your tongue until they turn into bitter

11. Listen to that album you downloaded from My- ash in your mouth.

Tunes last year but never got round to listening to. I 25. Check your e-mail to make sure no-one sent you

mean it, as soon as it's over you are going to start any urgent messages since the last time you checked.

that essay. Weep.

12. Listen to it again because you weren’t really lis- 26. Check Facebook again. See if you can find that fit

tening the first time. looking girl/boy you saw in that lecture the other

13. Check your e-mail again. Sit in silent fury if none day. Return pokes, start poke wars – poke like there’s

of the ungrateful fuckers emailed you back yet. no tomorrow, which you increasingly suspect is the

14. Go on Facebook. Check all your updated friend case.

profiles. Write on a few walls. Return pokes. 27. Sit down and do some serious thinking about

15. Rearrange all of your CDs into alphabetical order. your plans for the future if you make it through this.

16. Phone your friend on the other floor and ask if 28. Open your door and check to investigate the

he's started writing yet. Exchange vicious tirades strange shadows playing on the edge of your vision.

about your DOS, the course, the university, the world 29. Sit in a straight, comfortable chair in a clean,

at large. well-lit place with plenty of freshly sharpened pencils.

17. Sit in a straight, comfortable chair in a clean, 30. Read over the essay question one more time, just

well-lit place with plenty of freshly sharpened pencils. for the hell of it.

18. Check the newspaper listings to make sure you 31. Scoot your chair across the room to the window

aren't missing something truly worthwhile on TV. and watch the sunrise. Reflect on the beauty in the

NOTE: When you have a paper due in less than 12 world, all of which has been denied you.

hours, anything on TV from Countdown to Will & 32. Lie face down on the floor and moan.

Grace is truly worthwhile, with these exceptions: 33a. Leap up with a scream and write until you can

snooker, any movie starring Don Ameche and Star write no more, until your fingers are numb and

Trek. bleeding and you can’t even remember your own

19. Catch the last hour of Soul Brother of Kung Fu name. Then fall asleep. Well done, you’ve survived

on channel 5. another week.

20. Phone your friend on the floor below to see if he OR

was watching. Discuss the finer points of the plot. 33b. See behind the soul-destroying futility of your

21. Go look at your tongue in the bathroom mirror. existence. Take your lamp, chair and a freshly-

22. Look through your roommate's book of pictures sharpened pencil and sit in front of the mirror de-

from home. Ask who everyone is. spairing at the pathetic specimen you’ve become.

23. Sit in a straight, comfortable chair in a clean, Then stab yourself in the face repeatedly until it all

well-lit place with plenty of freshly sharpened pencils. goes away.

Sex In The City :







CAMBRIDGE

CURRY

Engineers in Cambridge have always had an affinity for curry, but this has become a particular feature of engineering at Peter-

house over the last few years. Perhaps it’s the fact the bar is shut on Monday nowadays, or that conversation at the annual

dinner gets onto concrete far too quickly – either way here is an outpouring of the accumulated knowledge of a (student) life-

time in the pursuit of the perfect curry...



t

The Gandhi India House Bes

The £10 Student Deal Curr

y

Location: 8/10 Economy: 6/10 Normally comprises: Location: 9/10

Atmosphere: 6/10 Food: 5/10 • Poppadum and chutneys Atmosphere: 7/10 Economy: 8/10

£10 deal? Yes • Curry (normally one from the menu £10 deal? Yes Food: 9/10

below £5)

The Gandhi on Regent Street is down • Rice (boiled, pilau, etc) India House serves as Peterhouse's

the road from Wetherspoons and most 'home' curry house for the purposes of

easily accessed from Lensfield Road. The

• Naan bread

engineers' curries. This is mostly due to

restaurant is small, but there is a larger • Glass of wine, Pint of lager or a soft its handy location next door to Bella

second dining room downstairs. They do drink Italia across the fen behind college, but

a £10 deal, but the beer is limited to fortunately it also provides one of the

Carlsberg - best get through this quickly Castle Hill beyond the crossroads near best curries in Cambridge. It tends to

and onto a nice Kingfisher or Cobra Magdalene, and the lack of a £10 deal come a regular second to the Maharajah

before the main course arrives. The food (probably due to its continuing success in online polls, and while it lacks the

is good quality and there is a large se- and resulting non-student custom). De- history and prestige of its competitor it

lection, but portions are small and noth- spite this, prices are very good for the makes up for this by offering the £10

ing stands out above 'average'. Rob quality and atmosphere of the place deal (with premium lagers an option)

Watson would also recommend avoiding (about 13 quid for a decent meal with all and a more student friendly service. The

the 'meat' curry. Its Regent Street loca- the trimmings). menu covers a decent range of curries,

TOTAL 30

tion makes this restaurant an ideal and the quality is excellent. Having the

springboard for pub crawls, with the Granta, Mill, Anchor and Grad Pad on

The Bombay Brasserie

Prince Regent, the Fountain & Spoons all the way home to college is an added

within easy staggering distance. Location: 9/10 Economy: 7/10

bonus to an excellent venue.

TOTAL 25 Atmosphere: 4/10 Food: 6/10 TOTAL 32



The Maharajah £10 deal? Yes

The Station Tandoori

Location: 5/10 Economy: 7/10

The Bombay Brasserie off Mill Lane Location: 4/10 Economy: 7/10

Atmosphere: 9/10 Food: 9/10 (near Dojos), formerly and notoriously Atmosphere: 8/10 Food: 7/10

£10 deal? No known as the Curry Mahal, is a famous

£10 deal? No

site for drinking societies, formal swaps

The Maharajah is well known to connois- and in particular the 'Alley Catz' of Somewhat off the beaten track, the

seurs as the best curry in Cambridge, nearby St Catherine's college. Despite Station Tandoori is on Hills Road, just

historically coming top of all the internet the recent renovation and attempt to before the turning onto Station Road.

surveys and group reviews like this. The move up market, the management re- The highpoint here is the service, which

food quality is excellent, with a decent main very flexible when it comes to while slow for large groups is relaxing

menu and generous portions. Spice is large parties, often on short notice and and very friendly. There is no £10 deal,

assured, and a cooling Lassi can be with high levels of inebriation. The Ma- but again the prices are far from astro-

made available at very short notice for hal provides an excellent service to the nomical. The menu is varied, with a few

the faltering curry adventurer. The ambi- student community, with wipe down items not found elsewhere on the Cam-

ence is that of a traditional first genera- tables, reasonable food and the econ- bridge curry circuit. It’s a trek, but for

tion curry house, with illuminated art- omy of the £10 deal, but is not the place something a little different well worth

work from the subcontinent, plastic for a romantic dinner for two. the journey.

flowers on the tables and uniformed TOTAL 26 TOTAL 26



staff. Service is brusque and profes-

sional, but not grating or annoying. It is

let down only by its poor location, on

Pete Davies

Engineer, philanthropist (you still owe me £8 Rob) and currymaster

CENTRE OF THE UNIVERSE

Big prizes, beer, enough fame and glory to last you a lifetime - now, how does that sound? Enter The Sex's all-new 2007 con-

test and you may just win the T-shirt of your dreams!

Now, fans of 'Propaganda' will find that this puzzle hardly resembles anything like last year's black-and-white intellectual

challenge. Quite the contrary, in fact - this year's offering is a game of word association in which nouns are represented by

pictorial clues. Unfortunately, to make things just a little more challenging, some pictures are missing, and are represented

by nondescript grey circles with numbers in them - it would be nice if these could be replaced so that the picture can be re-

stored to its former glory!

Anyway, the object of this contest is simply to figure out what or who is represented by the huge question mark ('?') in the

centre; the surrounding images are clues to the identity of '?', and the lines represent direct relationships between the pic-

tures on either side. Solutions can be sent to szwl2 (or the author's pigeonhole) and should contain (i) the identity of '?', (ii)

pictures to replace the missing ones (with a description of what each of your pictures represents).

Hint: this puzzle is Peterhouse-related (what did you expect?), and creative/lateral thinking will be a very useful ingredient!









To enter, simply fill in all or part of the form below and ensure your answers are submitted by the end of February 2007:







(i) Identity of X: ____________________________________________



(ii) Identity of Circle 1: _______________________________________



Identity of Circle 2: _______________________________________



Identity of Circle 3: _______________________________________



(iii) Send in a suitable picture to replace each of the grey circles! Iiii iii







Note that you do not have to solve all the clues correctly to be eligible for a prize (so partial answers are acceptable). The

main requirement is a correct answer to (i); the other questions are tie-breakers. However, please note that the higher the

number of correct answers in your submission, the higher your chances of winning a prize! Creativity and imagination in the

choice of pictures for (iii) will also be rewarded. Results will be announced in early March, and the solution will be published in

the next issue of 'The Sex'.